


Shimmer

by knockoutmouse



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Domme!Rory/sub!Fernald, Foot Fetish, Foot Jobs, Headcanon: Henchperson is autistic, Henchperson is called Rory, Light Dom/sub, Nonbinary Character, Oral Sex, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 12:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16661180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knockoutmouse/pseuds/knockoutmouse
Summary: Set pre-series, I guess?Dress rehearsals. Foot fetish. Fernald has some light but unnecessary angst about it. Sex.





	Shimmer

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know. It just happened. 
> 
> Names:
> 
> Henchperson - Rory
> 
> Bald Man - Arturo
> 
> White-Faced Women - Jenny and Elvira

It had been uncharacteristically progressive of Count Olaf, Fernald thought, to cast Rory as the female lead in Al Funcoot’s latest play, _The Vulnerable Vixen_. Truthfully, it had only happened because Jenny and Elvira wouldn’t stop squabbling over which of them would play the leading lady--the naive but flirtatious debutante who happened to be the heiress to an enormous fortune. Eventually, Olaf had stepped in to put a stop to the bickering and announced, much to everyone’s surprise, that the role would go to Rory. 

Fernald had felt a momentary pang of jealousy--not at the casting choice, but because of the inevitable romantic scenes that Rory would now share with Olaf. Fernald quickly checked the feeling--he and Rory had been dating for a few weeks, and it was silly to be jealous. It was a play, and they were actors. Besides, the “romantic scenes” in Al Funcoot’s plays tended to consist of the love interest swooning and fanning herself while the male lead--invariably played by Olaf--delivered long monologues professing his own heroism and desirability. 

That had all been a few weeks ago. Tonight was dress rehearsal. 

Fernald, in an ill-fitting suit for his own role as the comedic butler in the debutante’s household, was bored. He’d just concluded his bit of dialogue with the two humorous housemaids (played by Jenny and Elvira) and exited the scene. Now Fernald stood just offstage, zoning out during yet another of Olaf’s monologues, half-watching the action onstage. 

Then came the moment that Olaf and Arturo (playing the villain, Olaf’s romantic rival) paused in their blustering one-upmanship to notice the grand entrance of the supposed vixen of the title. 

And then, from the opposite wing, Rory stepped onstage.

They looked--well, all right, the dress itself was quite hideous, the material cannibalized from several different garments in varying shades of pink, stitched together like a Frankenstein creation. He supposed it might have taken some creativity on the part of the costuming department (read: Jenny and Elvira) to find an outfit for a very tall person when there was no budget to speak of. And the feather boa, that seemed perhaps a bit excessive. The shoes, too, weren’t right. Red, rhinestone-adorned platform heels didn’t seem right for the time period, although admittedly Fernald was a bit hazy on when exactly the play was supposed to be set. Not to mention that the very high heels exaggerated the already considerable height difference between Rory and Olaf. 

Now, as they attempted to make their way demurely across the stage, they reached Olaf, towering over him. Of course, women could be tall, Fernald reminded himself, but somehow he didn’t think this was the visual that the playwright had been going for. 

Of course, the shoes were _nice_ , even if they didn’t go with the outfit. Perhaps it might have been a bit difficult to find something suitable in their size. Maybe that was why Rory didn’t usually wear feminine shoes. Fernald found that he rather liked them. Oh, and they’d painted their toenails scarlet. That was definitely nice. A number of filthy ideas sprang inconveniently into existence in Fernald’s mind. Perhaps later--

No! At least, not until _much_ later. Fernald and Rory hadn’t been together that long, and he didn’t need them thinking he was a total freak. 

Still, he couldn’t keep his mind on task, and nearly missed his next cue. By the end of the first run-through, Fernald reluctantly admitted to himself that he might have developed something of a fixation. It was just--Rory’s feet were so _pretty_ , and he wanted to touch them and kiss them and-- _slow down, slow down_ , he chided himself. He definitely didn’t need to be getting all hot and bothered at work. 

***  
Nearly everyone had gone home now. Olaf and Rory had stayed behind to go through some of their scenes a few more times. Fernald sat at the edge of the stage with a copy of the script, reading out the lines of the absent characters. Finally, Olaf appeared to be satisfied, and dismissed the two of them for the night. Rory retreated to their dressing room. Olaf tossed Fernald the keys to the backstage exit--which he managed to catch with some difficulty--and reminded him threateningly that he’d better not forget to lock up. 

When Olaf had gone and Fernald had changed out of his shabby butler’s costume, he made his way to Rory’s dressing room. He found them sprawled in a chair, soaking their feet in a tub of hot water, or rather, a large cooking pot of hot water, which had probably been stolen from the props room. 

Fernald raised his eyebrows at this sight as he closed the door behind him. 

“My feet are killing me,” murmured Rory in explanation. “I mean, I like wearing heels, but not for that long.”

They’d changed out of the hideous pink dress, but not back into their street clothes, at the moment wearing just a camisole and leggings. Fernald didn’t usually have the opportunity to see them when they weren’t hiding under layers of oversized clothing, and found that he was far more turned on by this sight than he would have expected. And it didn’t help that they were gently paddling their feet in the water, scarlet nails shimmering just below the surface like elusive minnows--elusive, _sexy_ minnows--Fernald frowned. He was so distracted that he was mixing his metaphors now--better to stop and change the subject before he started to have confusing feelings about fish, too. 

Fernald sank down to kneel next to the tub. “I could--” he began, then frowned. “Well, no, I suppose I couldn’t. Can I do anything to help?” he rephrased, trying not to look down into the water, at the smooth skin of their feet, the tantalizing red nails just below the surface--

And he’d stared too long, and now Rory was giving him a curious look.

“Do you, like, have a thing about feet?” they asked quite casually, tilting their head to one side. 

“No! Well, I mean, possibly. A little. But not in a creepy way,” he babbled, feeling that he was only digging himself deeper.

Rory went on mildly, “I just wondered because you’ve been staring at my feet all day.”

Fernald flushed. God, he knew it, they were going to think he was a total pervert, he’d just ruined everything--

“Should I not have said that?” asked Rory. “Is this one of those things where it’s polite to pretend not to notice?”

Fernald struggled to find the words, and Rory went on, “I mean, I don’t mind or anything. I went out with this other guy for a while who was into that.”

“I--I--you don’t?”

“Actually, I kind of liked it.” 

“Those shoes,” said Fernald rather incoherently, by way of explanation. “You’ve been driving me crazy all day wearing those.”

Rory lifted their feet from the water and patted them dry with a nearby towel. Their nail polish shone beneath the bright lights of the dressing table. Fernald swallowed hard. 

They gave Fernald an inviting glance, or what he hoped was an inviting glance. 

“You can, if you want,” they said when he hesitated. 

He needed no more invitation than that. Slowly, his face still burning, he lowered himself and leaned down to kiss the top of their foot, letting his cheek rest against their skin, softer even than he’d expected. Fernald lifted their foot, supporting their ankle against his wrist, and placed his face against their sole, tracing his nose gently along the arch. 

Rory made a faint sound of appreciation, and Fernald looked up quickly. “You--you actually like that?”

“I told you I did,” they said. “I guess my feet are kind of--sensitive?”

“I didn’t realize you meant--I mean, this is turning you on?” he asked. 

“As for the idea of it, I can take it or leave it,” said Rory honestly, “but physically, it, um, it feels good.”

“Like in a sexy way?”

“Um. Yeah. I don’t know why. Is that weird?”

“If it is,” said Fernald, “I’m not complaining.” He kissed the sole of their foot, then licked slowly from heel to toe before he gave in to the urge that had been tempting him all day, and drew their toes into his mouth and sucked. 

Above him, Rory gave a faint whimper. Fernald released that foot and took up the other, again licking along the sole, giving quick, teasing flicks of his tongue as they began to shift in their chair and a faint blush colored their cheeks. And, Fernald noticed when he glanced up, Rory’s leggings did nothing to conceal their erection even as they shifted in their seat.

“Can you...can you get off this way?” he wondered aloud.

Rory shook their head. “No, but it’s still nice.”

“Can I--” Fernald couldn’t believe he was asking this; twenty minutes ago it had seemed an impossibility. He went on in a rush. “Will you let me come on your feet?” he asked. 

“You can do more than that,” said Rory, placing one foot against the front of Fernald’s bulging trousers. He thought he was going to faint.

“Really?” he whispered, mouth suddenly dry.

Rory answered by leaning down to undo Fernald’s pants. 

“Is this okay?” they asked.

“God, yes.”

Then Rory had slid down Fernald’s pants, freeing his erection from his boxers. Now they were changing their position, hesitating for a moment to sort out the logistics of it, and then Fernald’s hard cock was between the soles of their feet as they stroked him gently. 

“Oh my God,” he whispered. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop--” He began to move his hips, thrusting against the silky soles of their feet. Fuck, this was so hot--he couldn’t believe they were letting him do this, and giving little whimpers and gasps because fuck, they really did like this, or maybe they enjoyed watching him, or perhaps both. And again he caught sight of those shiny scarlet nails, and gave a cry of surprise at the suddenness with which he came.

“Oh fuck. Oh _fuck_ ,” was all he could whisper for a moment, feeling as if all his nerve endings were buzzing. Rory leaned down again and kissed him deeply. Fernald found himself moaning into the kiss, overwhelmed by sensation.

Rory broke the kiss and gently nipped at Fernald’s earlobe with their teeth before whispering, “Now clean it up.”

“I--what?” Not that he objected--he was just shocked at the command, it was so _hot_ to hear them talking to him like that--

“I said _clean--it--up_ ,” they ordered, punctuating their words with pauses for emphasis. 

Shakily, Fernald nodded and lowered his head again, licking his semen from their feet, continuing for longer than necessary as Rory’s breathing hitched. They began to give quiet whimpers as his tongue fluttered along their arch of their foot. They rested one hand at the back of Fernald’s head, urging him upward.

“I think it’s my turn now,” they said, their commanding tone only slightly belied by the breathiness of their voice.

Fernald gladly leaned forward to bury his face between Rory’s legs, taking the head of their cock into his mouth through the thin material of their leggings.

“Oh my God--yes--please, please--” Rory hurriedly pulled down their leggings and panties. Fernald eagerly descended upon their cock, taking in as much as he could, delighting in their little moans and half-suppressed thrusts. Their hands gripped his shoulders, gently at first, then tighter, almost painfully as they released into his mouth with a final cry.

Fernald sat back, and the two of them looked at each other in a daze for some moments. 

“That was fun,” said Rory eventually. 

“I agree,” said Fernald. “Maybe you should wear those shoes more often.”


End file.
